


A Midnight Sun

by zoemech



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Archer Lance (Voltron), Dragons, Elf Lance (Voltron), Elves, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, High Fantasy, Lotor isn't evil, M/M, lance finds a boy asleep in a cave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemech/pseuds/zoemech
Summary: A noise, huffing as if in sleep, has Lance lifting his bow and throwing aside his awe. In an instant, he is once again trained and ready to take down any animal or foe that wishes to kill him first. But as he swings his body around a wall of stone, his arrow is not aimed at a black bear or a mountain lion.Instead, against the backdrop of the golden walls, there is only a boy.





	A Midnight Sun

 

 

In the midwinter, when the sun is silver and the air is frigid on the skin, Lance traipses through the snow covered forest. His gaze scans the treetops and the bare underbrush, blue eyes sliding with predatory intent. The bow in his hand is heavy and the arrow ready, feather resting soft between his fingers. His steps are slow and though there is a crunch as he walks over the ice, it is a soft sound, hushed and quiet. Tendrils swirl from his mouth but he dares not lick his lips. If he does, they will only ache.

He dares not speak. He will not sing.

All is quiet and he knows that it must stay as so. If not, the hunt will fail. He will go home empty handed and ashamed, laughed at by his siblings. So, with the tilt of his head, he walks toward the mountains. At the base there is warmth, small pockets of caves and dense trees that house animals in deep sleep. Only he and the wolves are awake now, searching endlessly.

He listens out for them. Their howls are always a warning and he takes them seriously, sporting the scars on his back to prove it. He shifts his shoulder, feeling the phantom ache of taut skin. Beneath his clothes, heavy and lined with thick fur, his body is a testament to his survival. His people, while not merciless, are brutal. He supposes all elves are; for they are the foe of men, of armies that want to steal their homes and their magic.

Lance won't let it happen. They train and they hunt and they fall to no man, let alone those in castles of dark stone.

He walks closer to the mountains than anyone else dares. Craning his neck, he sees the snowy peaks over the trees, towering like the beasts that are said to sleep inside. Even he, as fearless as he tries to be, feels a shiver run the length of his spine. But he refuses to turn around. To do so would be pointless and cowardly and if Lance is anything, it is brave.

Or so he likes to believe.

Gulping, he takes his eyes away from the mountains and looks again to the forest around him, listening for signs of life. His hearing is exceptional, the long tips of his ears poised to hear even the smallest misstep or snapping twig. Cloak trailing on the ground behind him, he feels the wind brush against him, ruffling the material.

Though soon enough, after hours of this walking, he finally hears something stir. Slowing his step, he holds his breath and scans the area, fingers twitching on his bow. And soon, just ahead, he spots the deer. It's large and at its prime, having lived the last few years in luck. It's fat and the meat will feed his family well, the antlers perfect for the crafting of a new bow. He lifts his own now, eager to finish the deed. He's one of the best and he refuses to be anything less.

Breathing deep, he takes in the frigid air and feels it swirl through his veins. His senses sharpen and his heart slows, calm replacing the thoughts that had been raging in his head. All he sees is the target; all he knows is the kill.

He purses his lips and lets the air out slow, finger pulling the quiver back with immense strength. His bow doesn't creak nor crack. It's silent. He is silent.

Somewhere, through the skeleton of the branches, a crow calls out in a shrill scream. The deer startles and takes off the moment Lance releases his arrow, the sharp tip piercing a tree. Cursing, Lance immediately sprints forward and tugs the arrow free, eyes following the trail of hoof prints in the snow. He wastes no time re-notching his bow before running through the trees with quick steps, his boots made for the chase. As if he were flying, he passes a frozen stream and a forgotten carriage, no doubt left by travelers from the spring.

The deer has run far and it has run fast, making him question if he should continue onward. But to find a deer at all is a rare luck and he won't let that go, even if his trail leads to a steeper climb. He ignores the sight of the mountain drawing closer and the inevitable shift in air pressure. Eyes flitting from ground to sky, he knows the sun will set in mere hours. He'll have to turn around.

But not just yet.

Eager to catch up, he hurries his steps and finds himself meeting brisk open wind. It whips against his cheeks and reddens his nose, like icy fingers trying to tug him back. Warning him to turn around; to let the kill go.

Instead, he follows the hoof prints until they round a large outcropping of rock. He climbs fast, gloved hands grabbing hold of jagged edges until he can pull himself up, eyes overlooking the small valley below. It's not as large as those he's seen further East but it's grand, stretching far before returning to the slope of the mountain. And there, just at the base, he can see the impression of shadows. A cave. Eyes trailing from his own feet to the land ahead, he sees the trail of the deer lead all the way across.

He wavers, just for a moment, in the silence. Other than the whipping wind there is no other sound; no blaring horn of his people, no laughs from around warm fires. There is only him and this venture, perhaps a mistake in the making.

It wouldn't be the first.

So, with a huff, he starts down the rocks. His feet slide and ice soaks his pants, making his skin grow damp with the cold. He slips but rolls, catching himself in a low crouch before he can land on his face. He breathes a soft laugh and stands fast, continuing on with full speed.

It takes a bit of time but eventually he arrives at the mouth of the cave, wondering if perhaps the deer had taken shelter inside after all. It would be a bit strange but he supposes even wild creatures like to escape the cold from time to time. Either that or a bear, awoken from hibernation, decided to drag the poor creature inside. Lance holds tighter to his bow and readies the arrow just in case, almost hoping there _is_ a bear. The fur and meat would far surpass that of a deer.

Taking the first step inside, he welcomes the relief from the wind. The air grows warmer almost instantly, though the cold is still heavy on his back. His footfall echoes softly, bouncing back to him as he walks further and deeper. For a fleeting moment he remembers the stories and the beasts and he is afraid. His body turns to a new kind of shiver and he feels his stomach twist into knots.

 _But surely, if there were dragons they would have awoken by now._ He thinks.

With a hammering heart, he follows the cave as it winds deeper into the mountainside. His necklace glows upon his chest, reflecting blue along the walls. It's a guiding light and it shows how damp the cave is, how small crystals twinkle from deep grooves. He knows that dwarves mine stones and gems but he wonders if they know of the treasures resting here. He wonders if they would risk venturing into these mountains like Lance is now, just for a chance at collecting these faux stars.

Eyes sliding away from the glittering walls, he feels the air grow warmer and warmer the further he walks. It's strange, to say the least. While he knows the ground holds heat, he never expected a cave to feel like this. Almost as if a fire were raging somewhere close, the warmth travels up his skin and sends a thin layer of perspiration to his body. He shifts uncomfortably beneath his furs, finally licking his lips as they defrost.

His walk leads him around winding corners and steep plunges, even a small passage that threatens to steal the breath from his lungs as he squeezes through. But slowly, the cave begins to smooth. The floor becomes the color of molten gold and the smell is heavy with burnt wood and pine. Flickering light casts shadows along the walls and the roof of the cave and Lance's eyes trail all around, surprised by the beauty of it.

A noise, huffing as if in sleep, has him lifting his bow and throwing aside his awe. In an instant, he is once again trained and ready to take down any animal that wishes to kill him first. But as he swings his body around a wall of stone, his arrow is not aimed at a black bear or a mountain lion.

Instead, against the backdrop of the golden walls, there is only a boy.

He is asleep and bare, though a thick blanket of brown fur sits heavily upon his body. He's curled into himself, black hair fallen over the expanse of his pale face. Beside him, at the tips of his fingers, is a blade that looks as if it had been collecting dust for ages. And closer still, there is a small fire, blazing in an orange and red glow. It is nestled within a ring of stone but the embers look as though they have not been shifted, the logs smooth but not turned to ash.

Lance slowly lowers his bow, brows furrowed as he tries to think of what it is he's seeing. He debates turning back, wondering if the cave had some strange fungi that sends hallucinations to those who breathe it in. But then he looks to the boy again and though Lance is a hunter by birthright, and though he is old enough to know when something is amiss, he takes several hesitant steps closer. He doesn't stop until he's crouched beside the boy, hand reaching out to brush his thick hair away from his cheeks.

For a moment, Lance fears he is dead. His breathing is so shallow it's hard to tell if his chest is moving at all. But there, just at the center of his cheek, is a rosy flush. And when Lance risks placing a hand on his jaw, checking for a pulse, he feels warmth.

"Hello?" Lance whispers, wondering if perhaps the boy needs help.

He doesn't stir. Not even a twitch of the lips or eye, nothing to show that he is responsive. Though other than his deep slumber, there is no sign of injury or pain. Nothing holds him down or keeps him trapped. He is simply alone.

Sitting back on his heels, Lance thinks that maybe he should leave the boy and pretend he'd never stumbled upon him at all. There's no use returning a strange boy in a room made of gold, is there? But even as Lance stands to go, retreating back to the cold and the forest, he takes a lingering look back. It's almost haunting, the way the boy doesn't even know Lance is there.

And as Lance returns to the mouth of the cave, heart thumping in equal disbelief and wonder, he knows that he'll return.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this short little intro chapter. A new chapter will be up very soon!


End file.
